OH, I
GUESS
I've taken all this time to
let
things rub off on me - like
the
Red River Valley, I feel lonesome
with a horse running away. Some
old
Ranger captain comes by, to try
talking
to me - all his sharpshooter and
rifleman
stuff, the horse and those spurs. My
own
ways, by comparison, seem so milky
white
and tenderfoot. He lights up a small
cigar with
a match he strikes on his boot. I
look up to see:
an eagle, way overhead, flying off.
Or at least
that's what I thought I saw. Oh, I
guess.
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